This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
I'll wake it no more
By Strath-Fillan's blue fountain,
By Achray's lonely shore,
Or Benledi's high mountain—
No more wake the sound
Of the hunter's bold bugle;
For in death's narrow mound
Lies my loved Coilantugal!
How oft has that horn
To the chase hailed his coming,
At the first break of morn,
Ere the bee raised its humming;
Ere the maid, blythe of mood,
To the ewe-bught was wending,—
While each spray of the wood
With the dew-drops was bending.
When the fox from the shade
Of the pine-wood was peeping;
When the deer through the glade
In the grey dawn was leaping;
When the mist of the hills
From the sun-rise was flying;
And no sound—save the rills
And the wild breezes sighing—
Then—oh, then—the far cry
Of his deep-baying beagle,
From her eyrie on high
How it startled the eagle!
Roused the stag from his rest
In the glen of green braiken—
But no more its loud quest
Coilantugal shall waken!
Ay! now may his hounds
In the paddock lie idle,
And the steed roam his bounds
Unrestrained by the bridle;
The proud pibroch may blow,
But its notes shall not cheer him—
O'er his breast the brown roe
May leap wild and not fear him!